See Me

by Susan Hatler

  “Oh, Amy,” my mom said quietly.

  “I know you don’t believe me—I mean, it’s kind of impossible to believe what I’ve said, but I promise I’m not hallucinating. It’s all true.”

  Her hand shook as she placed it over her mouth. “I know. I believe you.”

  “You do?” I asked, seriously shocked. Although we’d just had a great heart-to-heart, the story sounded crazy even to my ears.

  “Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” She lifted my hand, placing it between both of hers. “They brought your friend Jonathan into the ICU last Friday while I was at work. He was in my care.”

  My eyes bulged. “You were there when they turned off his life support?”

  “No,” she said, peering into my eyes. “I’m probably going to be fired for telling you this, but Jonathan’s mother is strongly opposed to artificially preserving life.”

  “I know,” I said, remembering what Danielle had told me. “His mom made his dad pull the plug on his life support. Then his dad had him cremated.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Jacob Miller only told her he’d cremated their son, because she’d insisted on having an open casket at the funeral, but they couldn’t have an open casket because . . . Jacob Miller lied to his wife. His son has been in a coma since Friday and he never turned off life support. The doctors say he only has superficial injuries, and they can’t figure out why his body’s unresponsive. Jacob isn’t ready to let him go, though. He’s been sitting with him day and night, hoping he’ll wake up.”

  My heart stopped. “Are you saying . . .”

  “Yes.” She squeezed my hand. “Jonathan Miller’s body is alive, but in a coma and on life support. I’d be getting myself into even more trouble, but I can take you to him right now if you’d like. He’s in the ICU.”

  I felt dazed. The entire time I was with Jonathan’s spirit my mom had been taking care of his body. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I gazed down at the Maisy’s Meow cover in my lap. The kitty with the long whiskers stared back at me—as if trying to tell me something. But what?

  I jumped off the bed. “Thanks, but I have to call someone else.”

  My mom gave me a look of understanding. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I smiled up at her gratefully as she backed away, letting me have my space. Then I reached into my back pocket for my cell phone, and scrolled through my contacts. Finding the name I was looking for, I dialed, then waited as the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Owen said, in a gravelly voice.

  “It’s Amy,” I said, relieved that he’d answered. “Get over here as fast as you can and pick me up. We need a new plan. Jonathan’s body is alive—but in a coma—at San Felipe Medical Center.”

  ****

  Owen made it to my house surprisingly fast, considering the guy refused to drive over the speed limit. He picked me up in his truck and we were on our way to San Felipe Medical Center, which was only fifteen minutes away.

  Jonathan’s body was alive. I still had a hard time wrapping my mind around the notion, but my feelings were definitely onboard because my stomach was roiling with nausea and my heart rate pulsed out of control.

  I squeezed the Maisy’s Meow book in my hand as Owen drove down the street at a snail’s pace. “Come on, Owen. Can’t you drive any faster?”

  “The posted speed limit is twenty-five.” He gestured to the white sign, the black numbers “25” staring at me mockingly. “If I get pulled over for a speeding ticket that will increase our drive time more than if I’d driven at the appropriate speed to begin with.”

  “Why must you torment me with your annoying logic?” I coiled in the front seat, ready to pounce and take control of the steering wheel as he slowed for a stop sign. “Just run the freaking stop sign, Owen.”

  He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’d be even more frustrated with me if we got in a car accident due to me driving recklessly. Now bring me up to speed. How is Jonathan’s body alive, although comatose, at San Felipe Medical Center when he was supposedly cremated on Friday?”

  “His dad totally lied to his mom.” I threw up my hands, still unable to believe it. “Jonathan told me the man always does what his wife says. Even his comic series is about keeping the high-maintenance woman happy. But when it came down to letting his son go . . . apparently he just couldn’t do it.”

  “So he faked a funeral so his wife wouldn’t keep demanding that he turn off the life support?” Owen made a right turn. “It’s dishonest, but logical. If his son passes away in the end, then nobody would ever have to know the funeral was premature.”

  I tightened my grip on the book. “He’s not going to pass away. We’ll make sure of that.”

  Owen gave me a side-glance. “How, exactly?”

  “You’re the one who told me that spirits cross over when the body dies,” I reminded him. “But his spirit couldn’t have crossed over—like we’d thought—because his body is still alive, and has been alive the entire time.”

  “I hate to point this out, but he was in a body that died,” Owen said, quietly.

  I shook my head. “Not his body.”

  “True.” Owen’s tone held an edge of sadness. “But life support most likely indicates a lack of brain activity. He may be forever dead.”

  “My mom says the doctors don’t know why his body’s not responding. So maybe his body’s in a coma because his spirit detached,” I said, refusing to believe this was a wild chase when every part of my being told me there was still hope. “There’s a reason Jonathan was sent to me after his car accident. A bigger reason we just don’t understand yet.”

  “Maybe he had unfinished business,” Owen suggested, as he turned down another street. “Isn’t that usually the reason spirits stick around?”

  My gaze dropped to my lap, to the cat on the cover of my Maisy’s Meow book, and Maisy’s pretty green eyes stared back at me knowingly. Her hubby cat sat in the background almost unnoticed, and I ran my finger over his whiskers, something niggling in the back of my mind.

  Suddenly, I remembered Jonathan’s argument with his dad. Jonathan’s words of regret that he could never take back. The inscribed first edition of Maisy’s Meow he’d given away out of hurt. . . The same edition of the book I’d picked up at the thrift store after school last Friday.

  Chills vibrated through me. I held my breath, wondering if it was really possible that I’d selected the very book needed to ease Jonathan’s spirit. I opened the book, turned to the title page, and gasped. A hand-written inscription said:

  My dearest son . . . you will always be my greatest creation. Love, Dad

  “What is it?” Owen’s asked.

  “This is Jonathan’s unfinished business.” I held up the inscription even though he couldn’t exactly read it while driving. “Remember when Jonathan told us he got in that argument with his dad? That he’d given away the first edition of Maisy’s Meow his dad had inscribed and given to him? This is that book.”

  His mouth opened slightly. “That’s amazing.”

  Coming from a guy who believed in UFOs and what-not, I took his astonishment as a huge compliment. “Since this is obviously the reason Jonathan’s spirit vacated his body—the fear that he’d hurt his dad forever by giving this away—then his spirit must still be around. We just need to figure out a way to get him back into his real body.”

  Owen’s expression brightened. “That makes logical sense.”

  “Then it’s a plan.” I smiled, feeling secure in my thinking now that Owen had validated it.

  The theme song from the Twilight Zone started playing. Owen lifted his cell from his back pocket, scanned the screen, then set his phone down. “Hmm. . . Caller Identification notes that a Danielle Miller is calling.”

  “That’s Jonathan’s sister,” I said, wondering why she’d be phoning Owen right now. “It could be important. You should answer it.

  He turned to stare at me as if I had two heads. �
��It’s against the law to talk on a handheld device while driving, and I don’t have an earpiece with me.”

  I snatched up the phone while rolling my eyes. “Hello? Danielle?”

  “Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. “Is this Owen’s cell phone?”

  “Yeah,” I said, guessing she wasn’t going to be too happy to hear my voice after all the attitude she gave me last time. “This is Amy. Owen’s driving, so he can’t talk right now.”

  “Oh . . .” she said, sounding sad.

  “Is everything all right?” I said, glancing up at the sign showing one mile to San Felipe Medical Center.

  “Not really.” She sighed. “I was hoping to talk to Owen. I confronted my dad yesterday about how bogus it was for him to have Jonathan cremated against my mom’s wishes. Owen had seemed pretty upset by it, too. So I thought he should know what my dad confided in me, which is that he didn’t really cremate Jonathan’s body. My brother’s in a coma. He’s been on life support since last Friday, because my dad wasn’t able to let him go.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said, glad that her dad had finally been honest with her. “I’ll be sure to relay the information to Owen so he knows.”

  “Thanks.” She paused, then let out an audible breath. “I’d better go. We’re at the hospital and they don’t allow cell phones.”

  “You’re visiting Jonathan?” I asked, figuring I’d better know for sure since we were going to be there in about two minutes.

  “Not exactly. After my dad and I talked, he finally accepted that my brother’s not going to wake up. We’re at the hospital, turning the machines off now.”

  “You’re what?!” I yelled.

  “The doctor’s here. I have to go,” she said.

  I stared at the words “call ended” on Owen’s cell phone screen. My heart beat so hard against my chest I thought it might bust a rib. Or two. Or freaking all of them. Immediately, I dialed Danielle back but the call went straight to voicemail. “No-no-no!”

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s at the hospital with her dad. They’re turning off Jonathan’s life support,” I said, my voice shaking so badly that I could barely get the words out. I stared straight ahead as San Felipe Medical Center’s brick building came into view. “For the first time in your life you need to speed, Owen. Break the rules and go!”

  With a quick glance at me, Owen put his foot to the pedal, and punched it.

  ****

  Owen slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop in front of the entrance to San Felipe Medical Center. With his truck parked at the curb, we jumped out of the car, and raced through the double-door entrance. It was a large building, but because our parents both worked in the ICU, we knew exactly where to go.

  The elevator car wasn’t on the first floor, so I punched the button to call it. My knees were bouncing, and I glanced at Owen. “Stairs?”

  “That would likely be faster,” he said, then took off town the hall.

  We practically flew up three flights of stairs. I struggled for breath when we reached the top, wishing, for the first time, that I’d exercised more in P.E. to build up some stamina. We hurried down the hall, passing nurses and patients, heading for the room number my mom had given me.

  “There it is,” I gasped, then practically dove for the door.

  A nurse wearing Maisy’s Meow print-covered scrubs stepped in front of me. She set a stack of files on the cart next to her. “You can’t go in there, miss.”

  “But we need to see Jonathan,” I said, my chest heaving as I gulped for air.

  The corners of her mouth turned downward, but she widened her stance in front of the door. “I’m sorry. The family’s releasing him now. You’ll have to leave”

  Adrenaline pumped through every pore of my body. They were releasing him now? I had to get in there. She needed to move out of the way. But I could see from her determined stare that there was no negotiating with her, so I backed away, pretending to leave. My gaze shot to Owen’s and he did the unthinkable.

  He darted to the nurse’s cart, lifted her stack of files, then took off running down the hall. Slips of paper trailed in his wake as the nurse took off after him. Wow. Who knew Owen had a bad boy streak in him?

  I blinked for half-a-second, then turned the handle, and entered Jonathan’s room. Quiet sobs came from the bedside. My gaze immediately shot to the machine by the bed. All the lights were off. There was no beeping. No IV drip. Nothing. My chest went hollow.

  Two people sat in chairs, holding each other by the bed. I recognized the petite dark-haired girl immediately. Danielle. The older gentlemen with the peppered hair must be Jacob Miller, but it was hard to compare him to his author photo with his head buried on Danielle’s shoulder as he cried.

  I squeezed the Maisy’s Meow book against my chest, knowing I was too late. “He’s gone?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

  Apparently they’d heard me though, because they both turned their backs to the bed, and faced me. “Amy?” Danielle said, squinting at me through red swollen eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I-I came to see him,” I said, wishing Danielle had answered her phone when I’d called her back. Wishing they’d waited just five more minutes. Wishing that, before he passed away, I could’ve told Jonathan how much he’d meant to me—that I’d loved him. I closed my eyes, and one last tear slid down my face.

  The door swung open behind me, but I stood frozen.

  “Owen?!” Danielle said, her gaze darting over my shoulder. She perked up slightly, which I thought was very inappropriate considering her brother had just died.

  “Uh, hi,” Owen said, brushing my shoulder as he moved past me, breathing heavily. He strode straight to the bed, ran his hand through his blond mop, then turned around with tuffs of his hair sticking up every which way. “Did you get here in time? Where’s the body?”

  I stared at him, my brain halting, unable to understand what he’d just asked. “W-What do you mean ‘where’s the body’?”

  He glanced back at the bed, then his gaze traveled around the room. “Where’s Jonathan?”

  Danielle stood, raised her brows, then gestured toward my left. “He’s in the bathroom.”

  My mouth dropped open. I’ve never been around someone who’s been taken off life support, but I was pretty certain the nursing staff wouldn’t shove their dead body in the bathroom. What was going on here?

  Numbly, I followed her gaze as the door next to me squeaked open. And there he stood—in his own body.

  Jonathan wore navy-blue scrubs, the short-sleeved top stretching across his broad chest. His dark hair was swept across his forehead. Sparkling emerald green eyes peered back at me. And the corner of his mouth rose, revealing a gorgeous dimple. “Hi, baby. I was just leaving.”

  “Where were you going?” I said, unintelligently.

  “To find you,” he said, stepping toward me.

  Clutching the book to my chest, I grappled to find the right words. “But, how . . . ?”

  “We should probably give them a minute,” Owen said, his voice sounding like an echo from another world—that’s how in shock I was. He reached out and shook Jonathan’s hand as he went by. “Good to see you, man.”

  “You too, Owen,” Jonathan said, squeezing his hand.

  Jacob Miller came up next, clapping his son on the shoulder. “I’ll be right outside, son.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Jonathan said, starting toward me.

  Danielle jumped between us. “So you really do know her?” her voice squeaked, then Owen grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward the door.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Jonathan said, chuckling.

  Then the door closed behind us, and we were alone.

  I bit my bottom lip, wondering if he was really here. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I’d hoped for so long he’d find a body I was reinterpreting reality. I reached out, and pinched his arm.

  “Ouch,” he said, tilting his hea
d. “What was that for?”

  “To see if you’re real,” I said, still not convinced after everything we’d been through. From discovering his spirit hovering in my room, to his moving my pen, driving to the cemetery, finding out he was cremated, learning the military artificial-body operation wasn’t military-related, breaking into the secret warehouse, zombying an artificial body, and having it shot down in the high school parking lot, we’d had plenty of rather unbelievable experiences. “I thought you died in that artificial body earlier. How do I know you’re really here this time?”

  A line formed between his dark brows. “I wasn’t in the artificial body when they killed it. I never planned to be.”

  “But you said—”

  “I didn’t want you to waste your time on a zhost. You deserve more than that.” He stood only a foot away from me, but he didn’t move forward. “I wasn’t sure what to do next, but I knew if I stuck around and saw you upset, I’d probably zombie Owen again just to hold you. You couldn’t move on if I did that, so I went home to see my dad, to see if I could control the pen this time and apologize.”

  Jonathan’s Maisy’s Meow book burned under my grasp, but I waited.

  “I expected to find him working, but he wasn’t. He was talking to Danielle, telling her everything—including that my body was still being kept alive on life support. He seemed pretty upset over . . . my death.” His voice tightened. “Since Dad always spent his time working, I thought he didn’t care about me anymore. He told me he now sees how he had his priorities messed up.”

  “Because even though he didn’t show it well before, he loves you,” I said, then I handed him the Maisy’s Meow. “I believe this is yours.”

  He flipped open the book and stared in awe at the words. Joy flowed through me as I watched Jonathan’s eyes water, and I couldn’t help comparing Jonathan’s dad to mine. My dad didn’t always have his priorities straight, either, since he’d taken a job so far away, but he still loves me. Now I could see that.